


The fox and the prince

by Morethancupcake



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Books, But nothing sexual, Daddy Kink, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but merely mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4790582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morethancupcake/pseuds/Morethancupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Clint likes his time at the base. He likes waking up so early the sun isn't even there yet, and he likes to train before the air starts to smell like coffee. He showers alone, in the part of hall C no one dares to go to, puts his aids on, and he goes back to his room. And waits."</p><p>Clint loves the base. He loves his new life. He loves Coulson. Coulson, who teaches him how to read, who spends time with him, and makes him feel safe. Wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The fox and the prince

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you twangcat for being kind enough to read it and tell me it was okay to post. You're an angel !
> 
>  
> 
> The quotes in this story (ad the tittle) are from Antoine de Saint-Exupery "The Little Prince".

Clint likes his time at the base. He likes waking up so early the sun isn't even there yet, and he likes to train before the air starts to smell like coffee. He showers alone, in the part of hall C no one dares to go to, puts his aids on, and he goes back to his room. And waits.

He likes the base, it reminds him of the circus. He likes hearing people passing his door, on their way to the shooting range. He likes the smells, in the morning, it's a blend of coffee, tea, and shower gel, and that faint smell of fabric softener from the laundry in the basement. He drinks water, and he does his homework, because ignoring Fury's calls is one thing, but nothing could keep him away from the words written carefully, a little too big, on the heavy paper. He follows them with the tip of his finger, and he traces them carefully with his lips. 

Reading is hard, and it hurts his head a little.

Three knocks at the door, and his favorite part of the base opens the door.

Coulson smiles this half smile of his when he sees the papers Clint carefully put on his bedside table. They could talk about it, they could. Clint could thank him for picking this creamy paper, soft under his fingers. They could talk about it, but they don't. Clint grabs his bow, and follows the other man. They get breakfast, something warm they will eat in the silence of Coulson's office.

This is between them, and them only. 

Clint isn't a fool, he knows this quiet time isn't Coulson responding to his stupid crush, it's just two coworkers sharing a meal. But still, Coulson hands him another envelope, and when he smiles, the lines around his eyes dance, and Clint smiles back and takes his next lesson, puts it safely inside his jacket.

It's almost nine when Coulson's office is filled with light from the window, and the coffee cups are drying on their little rack.

"Have a good day, Barton."

 

It's always a good day.

 

Thing is, he never got to feel like this before, like he was part of something good, something nice, safe. Clint learns to read, and to write. He doesn't pile up food on his tray anymore, and doesn't leave the mess with bread in his pocket, just in case. He sees Coulson every morning, and if he plays his cards right, he sees him just before he leaves at night. When he's really lucky, Coulson just grabs something from the uniform room, and sleeps there.

 

The first time Coulson leaves without him, Clint pouts, and moans, and sulks the whole day. He gets they can't send him so soon, he gets they have to trust him first, but it sucks. Really. He wants to throw a fit because Coulson is helping someone else, and this someone doesn't know how to take care of him, he doesn't know Coulson forgets to eat when he's working, and he needs to sleep so he doesn't get a migraine.

He wonders when he stopped being a grown-up and just a kid madly in love with his boss, but he sleeps on Coulson's couch, wrapped into a sweater he found in a drawer, and he imagines Coulson's breathing next to him.

In the morning, there's a package for him, and it should annoy him Coulson just knew he had to send it to his office, but still, Clint almost runs to his room holding it to his chest.

 

He doesn't really remember gifts. He isn't sure they were rich enough to have them before the orphanage. After, he was too busy pretending not to be a kid to think too much about them.

The paper is smooth under his fingers, it's purple and shiny, and it makes him smile. It screams Coulson, and Clint thinks there's a good chance he's going to cry, but it's not so important anymore, looking tough and hard. He opens the package slowly, urging himself to remember everything.

There's no note, nothing except something, wrapped into what's probably the softest fabric Clint ever touched. The blanket is made of some kind of wool, but it's heavy and it's almost like water in his hand. He wraps it around his shoulders, and he wonders if people would be mad at him for wearing it forever. 

Inside, there's a book. 

Clint feels a few tears on his face, but it's from a distance.

Few years ago, he had nothing. No future, no hopes, not even somewhere to stay.

He holds the book in his hand, and he cries, because he can read it, now if he wants. He can read it, and read it again. He will, and he knows, Coulson will want to hear from him, Clint holds the book, and he cries.

Ma-thil-da, he reads, following the letters with his fingers. He places the blanket on his bed, with the book. He goes on with his day, because that's what is expected from him. He trains, and jokes with the guy in charge of the cleaning on his floor. He grabs food and takes a shower in the small bathroom in his room, the one he doesn't like to use because it's a luxury he doesn't feel he deserves. 

And then, hair still damp, holding a cup of lukewarm milk, he starts to read.

 

Coulson comes back, and Clint hides in the vents close to his office. He naps, holding the blanket close. He isn't ready to feel what he feels for Coulson. He isn't sure what people do except use each other and then leave. He isn't sure what he's supposed to do with the book, and the blanket, and the breakfasts.

He hides for a week, but he's sure Coulson knows, because he's spending too much time in his office even for him, sometimes just listening to music, or reading. He sleeps a few nights on the couch, and Clint is almost sure he knows Clint is here, he knows and he gives him time.

Clint goes back to his room, and to his bed. He smells the expensive cologne he sprayed on the blanket, the one from Phil's office, and he whispers it under the covers. He's in love. 

 

One night, after yet another mission going south despite his best efforts, after another scolding from Fury, who had kept him to tell him nothing was his fault, not even the death of the two newbies, one night, he's out of the shower and ready to sleep for days when he sees it.

The Tale of Peter Rabbit.

Coulson's ninja skills aren't a secret, not to anybody, and Clint isn't even surprised the man managed to get into his room without Clint murdering him. 

It's easier than Mathilda, but he's so tired the words dance in front of his eyes. He falls asleep, imagining Coulson's voice reading to him, soothing and calm. During the night, someone plucks the book out of his fingers, and puts the heavy comforter on him. He dreams of Coulson's lips on his forehead, and bunny rabbits hopping around.

 

The first time they fight, Black Widow is sedated next to them, and Coulson's voice booms inside the little plane taking them away from all this mess. His words are vicious, and yes Clint realizes what he fool he has been, and yes he almost ruined everything for a woman, he knows, he doesn't need to be reminded, but the worst of it, it's Coulson doing it, his grey eyes hard and pining him on his seat.

Fury must sense something is wrong, when the heavy door of medical opens on him, because he just tells him the next days aren't going to be easy, and he leaves him to think about the joy of confinement.

Coulson doesn't come to him. The Widow is moved to another level, and Clint is guided back to his room by a very unhappy Agent Sitwell. He puts his aids away, because he's pretty sure no one will knock on his door in the morning.

 

He still likes it at the base. Better here and somewhere else.

 

He orders books online, and has to get approval before finally getting them delivered. He tries a few novels, but spy stories are boring, and the hero reminds him too much of the man he betrayed. Romance leave him confused, because they all seem to understand a special code, to follow a path he doesn't see. Some things are interesting, but complicated, and after a while he just goes for the creamy paper and follows the words, Coulson's writing still managing to make him feel better despite of everything.

 

The air smells like rain when he's back from yet another training with one of the new handlers, and there's a package on his coffee table. He stands still for a moment, because he doesn't want to let himself believe, because it could be Fury screwing him over, or Sitwell sending him new things to make him prove himself useful. He moves carefully, getting rid of the bow and most of his gear, before sitting on the couch.

Inside the plain box, he finds a rabbit toy, his fur even softer than the blanket, and his eyes grey and deep. Clint knows, deep down, he shouldn't take it. He's good now, better. Yes, Coulson ignores him, and he doesn't dare going to the vent again, but he manages without him, and this... this changes things.

He pets the bunny, running his fingers on the soft inside of its ears, the little paws, and he tries not to smile. He wonders how Coulson could know about Peter Rabbit, about the book hidden under his pillow, well loved. He shouldn't accept it. He's a grown man, and plush toys aren't supposed to happen in his life. 

At the bottom of the box, Clint finds an old copy of a blue book. The little Prince, it says. Inside, written with a faded green pencil, a little boy left his name. Philip. 

He falls asleep crushing Turnip to his chest. When he wakes up during the night, Clint remembers. Yesterday was his birthday.

 

One morning, Coulson knocks, and then opens the door when no one answers, and Clint follows him. They go back to work, and to their breakfasts in silence. He wants to say thank you, for the books, and for Turnip. He wants to ask if it was Coulson's favorite growing up, and if it would be weird for Coulson to read it for him, sometimes. He wants to, but he doesn't.

 

And then everything happens.

 

Turnip is safe on his bed, when everything goes wrong, when Clint loses his heart and then loses the reason he had a heart in the first place.

Turnip is the only one he holds on to when he cries, and he's the only one who hears him say I loved him.

Turnip is in his bag when Fury leads him to a tiny room on a level he never knew about, and he sees Coulson on a hospital bed.

Turnip is sitting on his pillow when Clint holds Phil's face in his hands and kisses him, soft and promising. Phil can't really move, but he whispers in his mouth, and Clint reads to them, slowly not to make any mistakes, not to choke on words, and he watches the older man sleep on his shoulder.

He remembers the fox, and the tears reading about his sadness, parting for the prince. He remembers the fox, and whispers the words to Phil, who's still too thin and too pale in this big bed. 

 

Clint comes back from the market, and wonders when he became a man who knew how to cook rhubarb. A group of teenager laugh when he walks by. They smirk and make noise, something he suppose is their take on the way a deaf man speech would sound. He doesn't even blink, and just walks past them. He doesn't care, he had a lifetime of those, nothing new here. 

Phil is in his chair, reading in the sun when he finally reach the little house. 

It's quaint, and calm. Phil smiles and he rolls himself to meet him. Clint drops his bags on his knees, and kisses his husband once, twice, before guiding them inside. 

These stupid kids can talk, and laugh about him, he doesn't care.

No one says a word about Phil.

 

Clint liked his time at the base, but this, this life, he loves. He cooks for them and laughs with Phil. It's a change, of course. No more missions, no more Gods and men stuck in ice. It could be boring, driving Phil to PT, going to the library, driving them to the pool and helping his man out of his chair and into the water. Barton and Coulson were meant for more. Clint and Phil laugh in the showers because the chair makes everything difficult, and the water means having to sign only. They order vietnamese food and watch bad TV shows.

Clint and Phil are married, and in love. The little neighborhood accepts what they believe is a couple of ex soldiers without a fuss. It's not so far from what they had before, it's just... more.

 

Clint pushes his face into Phil's neck, and he kisses the skin he can find, biting at the strong jaw, kissing his cheek, messing with his reading glasses, until Phil gives up his tablet and grabs tonight's book. The little prince, Phil's voice says, and Clint closes his eyes. The story is beautiful, and Clint loves it a lot. He doesn't need to understand everything, but he knows how beautiful this is, he knows, and when Phil reads about the fox, his voice tensed and breaking a little.

 

"To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world...”

Clint hides in his arms and cry.

 

 

“So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near--

Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."

It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ."

Yes, that is so," said the fox.

But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.

Yes, that is so," said the fox.

Then it has done you no good at all!"

It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields.”

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, feel free to visit me on tumblr :
> 
>  http://iwanttopizzamanyou.tumblr.com/post/128997883374/the-fox-and-the-prince
> 
> Nice comments and kudos are warm chocolate cake to the soul :)
> 
> Don't forget to drink water and to strech every once in a while. Have a snack and don't sleep too late.


End file.
